


Frustration

by TrueIllusion



Series: Familiarity [14]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Memory Loss, POV Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk), Post-Canon, Traumatic Brain Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 22:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: Justin woke up with the worst headache he’d ever felt in his entire life. Worse than what he’d felt when he first woke up from a two-week coma after having his head bashed in with a baseball bat. The lights felt like they were burning his retinas, their fire going straight through to his brain in sharp, stabbing pulses. He could see shapes next to him, that slowly came together into people. Their faces gradually came into focus. His mother, and Brian. Sitting next to his bed.Where was he? Was he in a hospital? What happened?





	Frustration

_“Does he always push himself this hard?”_

_“Even when he was a kid. He was so determined to ride his two-wheeler. He fell a hundred times -- his knees were a bloody mess -- but he kept at it until he learned how to stay up. He hasn’t changed. If he wants something, he won’t stop until he gets it.”_

*****

Justin woke up with the worst headache he’d ever felt in his entire life. Worse than what he’d felt when he first woke up from a two-week coma after having his head bashed in with a baseball bat. The lights felt like they were burning his retinas, their fire going straight through to his brain in sharp, stabbing pulses. He could see shapes next to him, that slowly came together into people. Their faces gradually came into focus. His mother, and Brian. Sitting next to his bed.

Where was he? Was he in a hospital? What happened?

Brian and his mother both looked like they were about to cry, so it must have been serious, whatever it was.

He tried to ask, but the words felt stuck in his head. Like he couldn’t get them out. The only word he managed to force from his mind and out through his lips was Brian’s name.

He was so, so tired.

Sleep claimed him again before he could try to say anything more.

The passage of time was a mystery to Justin. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, or how much time was passing each time he’d open his eyes, try to communicate, and then fall back asleep again. He felt like he was stuck in a loop -- he kept repeating the process, over and over again, but he wasn’t getting anywhere.

It took several repetitions of that process before Justin finally managed to squeeze a few more words out of his head. He was frustrated and embarrassed by how much effort it took, and how certain words seemed to evade him. It was like he couldn’t think of them. Like all of the words he knew were locked inside a giant filing cabinet in his head, and he had some of the keys but not all of them, and the keys he did have, led to drawers that were packed with folders crammed full of words that didn’t make sense and weren’t what he wanted at all. The words he did want were lost somewhere inside the filing cabinet, and he had to dig through a lot of shit to find them.

He didn’t know how many completions of the sleep-wake cycle it took before he finally managed to ask, “What happened?”

Brian told him he was in a car accident. He’d barely had time to process those words when Brian added that he’d hit his head, there was swelling in his brain, and he’d been in a coma. It was so much information. He knew what the words meant, but trying to figure out how they related to him was making his head hurt even more than it already was. He kept looking at Brian, searching his face, as if somehow he’d find something there that would make everything make more sense.

Then, he noticed something was different about Brian. He wasn’t sitting in a regular chair. He was sitting in a wheelchair, and not the kind you’d be in temporarily -- the kind they used to move you around the hospital. It was a fancy one, like you’d be in if you had a permanent need for one. He tried to reconcile it with the Brian in his mind, but he couldn’t make it fit.

At first, he was afraid Brian had been with him in the car -- that he’d been hurt in the same accident, and somehow Justin had been waking up and falling asleep for even longer than he thought. But Brian said he hadn’t been in the car.

So he tried to ask Brian what happened to him, but Brian didn’t seem to understand. Justin was fairly sure he’d said the words correctly -- at least, he’d heard them correctly -- so why didn’t Brian understand what he was asking? It took several tries before Brian finally understood that Justin was asking about the wheelchair -- wanting to know why he was in it.

Brian said he was in an accident, and Justin felt like he was back to the drawing board. Wasn’t that what he’d just asked?

But Brian kept talking.

“I’ve been like this for a long time. Ten years.”

Ten years? Had Justin really lost ten years? He didn't feel like he'd lost ten years. He remembered some things that felt recent, but there were so many details missing.

He was desperately trying to figure out how on earth he’d somehow forgotten Brian being in a wheelchair for ten years, when a short woman in a white coat walked through the door, with a tablet under her arm. He assumed she was his doctor. She asked him how he was feeling.

He felt like it took him far too long to find the words to respond. All he managed to say was that his head hurt.

She told him that was normal -- which was not what he wanted to hear -- but that they’d try to adjust his pain medication. Okay, that was better.

Suddenly, he was back to being so tired he could barely hold his eyes open, and he ended up falling asleep again.

Every time he’d wake up, Justin would try to glean more and more information from Brian or his mother. He’d keep asking them questions, so long as he could find the words. The answers didn’t always make sense, but he kept trying to place them somehow in his confused brain.

He was starting to realize that there was a lot he couldn’t remember, and that made him frustrated. But Brian and his mother were patient, and answered all of his questions. They seemed to be trying to keep it as simple as they could, and Justin was thankful for that. He wasn’t sure how much he could take in and digest at this point. He was trying, but it felt like all of his efforts were in vain.

They must have adjusted his medication, because his head wasn’t pounding anymore -- it was more of a dull ache. Still irritating, but not as overwhelming. No longer having the distraction of feeling like his head was about to explode, he noticed for the first time that his right hand felt like it was asleep -- slightly numb. It felt like it weighed much more than it should. He lifted it up off the bed and looked at it, not sure what he thought he was going to see.

Brian took Justin’s hand and put it between both of his, but Justin couldn’t feel it. He could only see it. Brian smiled at him and told him they’d figure it out. Figure what out?

Then, a glint of metal in the light caught Justin’s eye. Brian was wearing a simple, silver-colored band on his left ring finger. Was Brian married? Were they married?

Justin managed to force out the first two words of the question, and that must have been enough.

Brian stared at him like he didn’t know what to say. His mother was the one who finally answered his question, after a few very long seconds of silence.

“Yes, sweetheart. You and Brian are married. It was a beautiful ceremony.”

They were married? There was a ceremony? Why couldn’t he remember it?

How much did he not remember?

Justin was starting to panic, internally, at the thought of how much time it seemed he’d forgotten. How many details. He’d always wanted to marry Brian -- how could he forget something as important as that? How could he forget Brian being paralyzed in an accident ten years before?

Suddenly, Brian disappeared from the room, and Justin was afraid he’d somehow upset him, which only added to his anxiety.

What the fuck was going on? When was all of this going to start to make sense? When was he going to remember?

His mother seemed to sense his anxiety, and brushed his hair back off her forehead with his hand.

“It’s alright, honey,” she said. Her voice was gentle and made him feel like he was a kid again. “I’m sure it will all come back to you. You just need to rest for now, okay?”

“Brian,” he said. That was all he could get out. Goddamn it, he hated this so much.

“He’s okay, sweetheart. I don’t think he’s feeling well. But I don’t think it has anything to do with you. I’m sure he’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Justin whispered. Just having that brief conversation had sapped all of his energy. He wanted so badly to stay awake, but he couldn’t. His eyes were closing all of their own accord, and he soon gave in to unconsciousness yet again.

Justin didn't see Brian for more than 24 hours after that. He spent the day Brian was missing searching his jumbled-up brain for memories of their wedding, and coming up empty no matter how hard he tried. He wanted so badly to remember it. He needed to remember it.

He talked to Brian on the phone, but just for a few minutes. Brian sounded as tired as Justin felt. Justin was worried about him. His mom had told him that Brian was sick, and that was why he hadn’t come to the hospital, but that only left Justin wondering what was going on. What was wrong with Brian? And was it somehow his fault?

Justin had so many questions -- about everything -- but he felt like he couldn’t get them out. The words wouldn’t come, even if he could find the energy to stay awake long enough to try to ask.

Daphne came to visit him that day, too, since she had to go back to Ohio later that night. She kept trying to encourage him, echoing what his doctors had already said -- that memory loss was normal after a traumatic brain injury and could very well be temporary. But Justin noticed that she didn’t say it was probably temporary. She just said that it could be, and that left the door open for it to be permanent.

Justin kept hoping Brian would show up, but he didn’t. Justin was desperate to see him and talk to him -- to try to fill in more holes in his memory, and to reassure himself that Brian was okay. But his mother said Brian probably wouldn’t be coming -- that he needed to rest. She did help Justin make Brian a video, though, and said that she would show it to him later that night, when she went to check on him.

In it, he told Brian that he loved him and he missed him, because he kept remembering how sad Brian had looked, even when he was smiling, every time Justin had seen him since he’d first woken up. And, for good measure, he told Brian he’d better take care of himself, because even with his spotty memory, he knew that Brian would never see his own needs as more important than Justin’s, and that it was probably really hard for him to stay away.

It was hard for Justin not to see Brian, too, but Justin wasn’t going to bring that up. He didn’t want to make Brian feel guilty.

Justin wished he had more of a point of reference for what might be going on with Brian. He still felt so gobsmacked by the news that Brian had been in a wheelchair for ten years. Justin wondered what that entailed -- what it was like. He wondered if it was kind of like what he was feeling in his right hand -- sort of like it wasn’t even his, and he could try to move it in his mind, but it wouldn’t respond. He also wondered if whatever was going on with Brian was some kind of a complication of that. He felt like he had a lot he would need to learn -- or relearn, he supposed -- just so he would know how to be a better partner to Brian.

He’d always been one to call out Brian’s bullshit -- he remembered that, for sure -- but now he was feeling like he might not even be able to spot it.

Justin wished that he could go with his mother to see Brian, but he was stuck in that stupid hospital bed.

The thing Justin hated the most about the ICU was the fact that he ended up alone every night. He hated waking up, even briefly, and seeing that no one was there. He was looking forward to being moved to a regular room, which sounded like it was going to happen soon. But really, what he wanted was to go home. With Brian. He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to have that for a while, though. And that was depressing.

This whole ordeal was incredibly depressing. But Justin was just trying to make it through to the other side, even though it was hard.

The day that Brian wasn’t there, Justin felt like he was finally making strides toward being more like himself. Talking wasn’t as hard, and his mother was helping him try to fill in the holes in his memory. They talked a lot about Brian. And Justin felt like things were finally looking up.

Then, the next morning, discontent was once again the name of the game, as Justin felt as if all of the progress he’d made with speech the day before had been snatched away. Brian was there, but Justin struggled to talk to him. Trying to speak made his head hurt, and he couldn’t find most of the words he wanted. He kept having to stop and search for them, and it was embarrassing and frustrating. He hated for Brian to see him like that.

He did, at least, get to move out of the ICU that morning though, so that was one good thing.

Another very good thing came later.

Justin woke up from one of the many naps that his body and brain would force on him, only to see Brian watching a soap opera. It was such a strange sight, that it made Justin blink a few extra times, wondering if he was still asleep or was hallucinating somehow, because, well, brain injury. But nothing changed, so it appeared to be reality -- and a hilarious one, at that. So he called Brian out on it, teasingly, as best he could given his incredibly fucking irritating limited capacity for speech that day. Brian called him a twat, and that made him laugh, even in spite of how annoyed he was with his situation. But most of all it helped things feel even more normal instead of completely inside-out like they had been. It was small, sure, but it made a difference.

Then, Brian took a ring out of his jacket pocket, and Justin wanted to cry. He didn’t, but he wanted to. Instead, he smiled -- a smile that spread across his face all of its own accord. When Brian put that ring back on his finger, Justin was completely overwhelmed, but it was a good kind of overwhelmed. It was yet another thing that made him feel like he could get back to normal. He just hoped that normal was something at least close to what it had been before, even if he couldn’t exactly remember what that was like.

For some reason, having that ring back on his finger felt like magic. And when he spoke to Brian after the older man slid it on, all of his words came out perfectly.

“This was what I always wanted. I’m glad I have it. I have you.”

He meant every word, and he was so grateful to not have to struggle to say it. Yes, maybe things were getting back to normal, even if it was slow going.

The next day, Justin was surprised to see Brian show up with Rob, who he knew was one of their friends from New York. Actually, for a moment, it made Justin question whether or not he was in Pittsburgh, because he was so surprised to see Rob, but that was quickly settled. It felt so bizarre to Justin that he remembered Rob -- and actually remembered that Rob was paralyzed too -- but not that Brian was. And it made his head throb to try to figure that out, so he stopped trying. But he was glad to see Rob, because he knew Rob would probably be able to help Brian, since Justin couldn’t right now. And Brian looked like he needed something -- he looked exhausted.

Even lying in a hospital bed, it was hard for Justin to put himself first and not think of what he could do to try make things better or easier for Brian, much like how Brian would always put Justin above himself. When they were together, though, it just worked. They took care of each other. They always had. Now, Justin had a new context for this, knowing that he and Brian were married -- partners in every sense of the word. Only Justin wasn’t feeling like much of a husband or partner at the moment.

Everything seemed good that day. He got to eat Debbie’s chicken parmesan, and he spent a lot of time talking to his mother and Brian and Rob. He felt more awake and aware than had the entire time he’d been in the hospital. Talking was okay that day. His hand still felt weird, and he still couldn’t move it, but other than that, things were getting to be more and more normal.

The day after that was when everything went to hell again.

It started off okay, with Brian and Rob in the room with him and Justin begging Brian to let him have just a little bit of his coffee, and Brian telling him no but eventually giving in with a roll of his eyes and a grumbled, “Christ, the things you can make me do. If you tell your doctor I did this, you’re a dead man.” He asked Rob about his family -- Adam and Esmeralda and Sophia, because he remembered them too, strangely enough. Why could he remember all of these tangential details of the past decade, but not the things that had likely played a huge part in shaping the course of his and Brian’s lives? Why was his brain blocking those things out? It didn’t make any sense.

The nurses told Justin that morning that he’d be starting therapy later that day. That was a good thing, he thought, because it meant he was one step closer to blowing this popsicle stand and getting what he really wanted -- to get back to his regular life. He didn’t know why he didn’t think about just how hard it would be. Brain injury, he guessed. He was skipping steps and wasn’t really thinking about what the process would be like.

And that was exactly what it was -- a fucking process. And it was really fucking hard. He should have known it would be, because the entire thing felt like going back in time. He’d been there before, and he knew how hard it was and how upsetting it had been to struggle to wrap his fingers around a tennis ball or pick up a single paper clip and put it in a plastic cup. How demeaning it had felt to have people praising those actions and telling him he did a good job. He didn’t know why he’d somehow thought this would be any different or any easier. It wasn’t. And Justin was quickly faced with the stark reality that it was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life, to come back from this.

The first time, he’d been so driven -- not only because it was just who he was, but because he wanted to get out of the rehab center as quickly as possible so he could go see Brian. Since Brian apparently hadn’t seen fit to come see him, he’d have to go to Brian. (Of course, he found out later that Brian really had been there. And it made Justin wish he would have come during the day instead of skulking around at night, even though he knew why Brian had done everything in secret. He didn’t think he deserved to be there. That was just Brian.)

So he did what needed to be done so he could go home, then snuck out to Liberty Avenue to find Brian, and succeeded. Justin had put his mind to what he wanted, and he did whatever it took to get it. That was just who he was. It was who he’d always been. But being that person felt so much more difficult this time. He wasn’t sure he could do it all again. It was like something fundamental inside him had changed. He felt like the person he always had been was so far away, fading off in the distance, perhaps never to be seen again.

Maybe that was brain injury too. Maybe it had changed who he was. And not exactly for the better. But what the fuck was there to do to stop it?

Nothing, that’s what. Not a goddamn thing.

The first thing the physical and occupational therapists wanted to do was evaluate him -- see what he could do, see exactly where he was, so they’d know how to start, they said. Only the answer to “what he could do” with his right hand was a big, fat nothing. He still couldn’t feel it, and he could tell it to move, but it wouldn’t move. He’d cursed and yelled and they’d told him to calm down. They’d patronized him -- reached out and touched his arm, trying to be reassuring, only Justin didn’t want to be touched. He let his anger and frustration lead the way through the rest of his session with both therapists, trying desperately to squeeze out anything he could from his hand -- anything at all.

They kept asking him questions, but he was having even more trouble finding the words. That only upset him more. He got so angry that he cried at one point, which was embarrassing. He felt like he had no control over his emotions. They kept telling him that he needed to relax and calm down, and that would probably help with everything -- his speech as well as his hand -- but that was easy for them to say. Who the hell could calm down when you made your living as an artist and couldn’t even open or close your fingers, much less hold a pencil or a paintbrush or even the goddamn stylus for a computer? And how would they know how it felt to want to say something so badly but to feel like the words were stuck in your goddamn head?

He couldn’t calm down. He didn’t want to, either.

By the time Justin got back to his room, he was ready to scream. A nurse tried to help him back into bed, but he didn’t want help. That was one thing he could do -- he could stand, and he could walk, with no problem. In fact, he was getting so good at that, that he was now allowed to go to the bathroom by himself, and they weren’t even raising the bed all the way or putting up all of the railings anymore. At least he still had one shred of independence to cling to, even if everything else was shit.

Justin kept looking down at his hand, trying to make it do what he wanted, only to have it not respond. He hit it on the mattress a few times -- at least he could still move his arm -- before his anger suddenly melted into a deep sadness. He’d lost something here -- something important -- and he had no idea if he’d ever get it back. The tears came, and Justin felt powerless to stop them. They weren’t even cleansing -- they were just...there.

And that was when Brian and Rob came back into the room. Whether it was good timing or really, really bad timing, Justin didn’t know. He guessed it didn’t really matter. He felt like nothing did, anymore.

Brian tried to comfort him, but he didn’t seem to understand what it felt like to want something so badly but not be able to do it. Yes, Justin knew that it took time. He knew that he’d done it before. But the trouble was, he didn’t want to do it again. Somewhere, deep down inside, he felt like this time was different. And that wasn’t helping him feel better at all.

Rob and Brian were both telling him that there were things he could do to continue being an artist, even if nothing changed from where he was right then. But Justin didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to do things differently. He wanted them to be like they were before.

He didn’t want to “find a way.” He just wanted to go back in time and keep all of this from happening.

He felt powerless. And he didn’t like that.

The tears fell more quickly, and they didn’t want to stop. Justin could feel Brian rubbing his arms and whispering to him and telling him that it was okay, that everything was okay. But nothing was okay and Brian should have known that.

“I can’t even...feel it.” Justin had to force the words out through the tears. It took far too much effort to speak, but this needed to be said. “Do you know...what that’s...like? How can I...use it...if I can’t...feel it?”

“I do know what that’s like,” Brian said softly. He looked so, so sad. “That’s how my legs feel. Like they’re not even there, or like they belong to somebody else. It sucks sometimes. And I can try to move them in my mind, but they don’t do anything. I can’t even wiggle a toe, not even a little bit. But it’s not the same. The spinal cord isn’t like the brain. The brain can adapt, rework, and retrain. You know that. You just have to keep trying.”

“But what if...I...don’t want...to?” He definitely didn’t want to. And quite frankly, he had no idea how Brian was dealing with his own injury -- Justin couldn’t imagine it being his whole lower body, instead of just his hand. He would have been devastated. How was Brian seemingly so okay with it? He wanted to ask Brian about that, but it was too much effort.

“Justin…” Brian had a desperate look in his eyes as he gripped Justin’s hands even tighter. “This isn’t you. You don’t give up. You fight.”

“I can’t… I don’t…” Goddamn it. He couldn’t even find the words to complete the sentence. He suddenly realized they were alone, and that he didn’t even remember Rob leaving the room. But Justin didn’t particularly want to be alone with Brian right now. He just wanted to be alone, period.

“Even if you don’t think you can right now, you have to.”

“I don’t...want to.”

“Move over,” Brian said suddenly.

Justin looked at Brian, confused, then saw him move his wheelchair closer to the bed, scoot himself forward in it, and move his feet off the footplate.

“Move over,” he said again.

Justin scooted off to the side a bit, then watched as Brian made a fist and pressed it into the mattress as he lifted his body and slid it onto the bed next to him. He picked his legs up one by one and set them on the bed as well, then scooted closer to Justin.

Once Brian got himself situated on the bed, he turned to face Justin, putting his hands on Justin’s shoulder’s.

“Listen to me,” he said, staring straight into Justin’s eyes with a penetrating gaze that made Justin want to look away, but he didn’t. Hazel bore into baby blue with a seriousness and determination that Justin wasn’t sure he’d ever seen from Brian before. “You are bigger than this. You will get through this. It might not seem like you will right now, and I promise I’ve been there too and I know it sucks, but you will get through it. And I’ll be right here with you every step of the way. I love you, and I want to help you. I’ll do that in any way I can. Because you’re my husband, and I love you.”

Then, Brian wrapped his arms around Justin so tightly that Justin could scarcely breathe, but he wasn’t going to say anything because even though it was uncomfortable, it also felt so, so good. Brian closed his eyes and buried his face in Justin’s collarbone, and Justin could hear and feel his breath, which was slightly unsteady.

“Brian…” he whispered. “Are you…”

Brian opened his eyes and looked at Justin. Justin could see they were shining with tears. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “I’ve just wanted to do this for a long time. I haven’t been able to hold you…” He paused and kissed Justin, long and slow. “...or kiss you. It’s been too long.”

They were both each other’s anchor. They always had been. Even with as many things as Justin couldn’t remember, he did know that for sure. Justin hated that he’d left Brian adrift for a while. He didn’t know why he couldn’t shake these feelings of guilt over something he couldn’t control. He knew it didn’t make sense for him to be worried about Brian when he had so many things to deal with himself. Maybe it provided distraction, to try to focus on Brian for a little while instead of thinking about everything he had bearing down on him right now. Because Justin had no idea how he was going to get through all of this again, even with Brian’s help.

He knew that Brian loved him, and that Brian would do anything for him. Only this time, Justin wasn’t sure there was anything Brian could do. There was nothing anybody could do.

And it wasn’t just his hand -- it was his speech too. As if he didn’t already have enough to be frustrated by, they added speech therapy to his plate the next day. He was so overwhelmed already, and the last thing he wanted was someone advising him to “talk more slowly” because he felt like he was already talking slowly enough. He loved to talk. He didn’t want to talk slowly -- what he wanted to know was how to stay in the space where words came more easily. It happened sometimes, and it gave him a tiny bit of hope, but it never stuck around long enough.

What he didn’t want to do was exercises that had him naming words and things and using flashcards like a fucking child. He failed to see how that was going to help -- the words were there, inside his head. He just couldn’t find them when he needed them.

When it was really bad, he would rather just not talk at all, but he was told that he couldn’t do that. He had to keep trying -- not just when it was hard, but especially when it was hard. Everyone who came into his room kept talking to him and asking him questions and expecting him to answer. He knew they were trying to help, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept that he was apparently going to have to really work at being able to speak normally.

It was much easier to just let himself fall into the downward spiral, lost in his thoughts of how he’d never use his hand again, never talk like a normal person again, and never remember his own wedding.

His doctor asked him to start keeping a log of things he remembered, to help him start piecing everything together. Really, it was just another reminder of how fucked he was, because he couldn’t even write anything down. He tried to do it on his phone instead, but it was practically impossible to do using only his left hand, even with the accessibility apps Rob had installed for him. While Justin was ambidextrous, he hadn’t really put it to much use since he was a kid. He’d always favored his right hand, and now it was out of commission. And without being able to use the on-screen keyboard very well, his only alternative seemed to be speaking, which was definitely a no-go. So he was stuck. Confronted with yet another simple thing he couldn’t manage to do.

“I can’t fucking...do this,” he said, disgusted with both himself as well as the situation, as he threw the phone back to the mattress.

“Yes, you can,” Brian said. “We’ll find another way. Tell me what would make it easier, and we’ll do that. Maybe an actual keyboard. What do you want? What would help you the most?”

“Nothing will. Maybe a...time machine.”

“Justin,” Brian sighed. “I know this sucks, but things aren’t going to get any better if you don’t try. Don’t you want to try to remember?”

Justin shrugged. He was starting to get irritated with Brian’s insistence that he “find another way” to do practically everything. What he wanted to do was wallow. He didn’t want to find another way. He’d come to accept exactly where he was, and that nothing significant seemed to be changing.

“Alright, how about a game, then?” Brian said.

Justin shrugged again. He didn’t really think anything was going to help, but he’d humor Brian.

“Scoot over,” Brian said. Justin did, and Brian joined him on the bed. “Let’s just talk about things, and we’ll see if it helps you remember. We can think of it like we’re playing ‘remember when.’”

Justin reluctantly participated that first time, but found that it did actually help him remember a few things. So they kept doing it.

They’d play their game every evening. Brian would join Justin on the bed, and they’d just talk. Brian would share a little bit of something, then they’d see if Justin could fill in the rest with what he remembered. Whoever else happened to be in the room at the time could participate as well -- his mother, Rob, Debbie, Gus, Michael...anybody who knew anything about Justin’s past was fair game. And it really did help. Justin was remembering a little bit more every day, and things were starting to make more sense. It wasn’t perfect, by any means, but it was getting better. And the more he talked, the better his speech got as well. Again, still not perfect, but better.

And it was just nice to spend a couple of hours next to Brian in the bed, with Brian’s arm around him. Sharing an occasional kiss if they were alone. There were even a couple of times that Brian fell asleep on Justin’s shoulder. It was nice, just being close.

And it reminded Justin of how badly he wanted to be back in New York, where they could do that all the time. He wondered if maybe being back there would help him remember.

One night, Justin and Brian were alone together in his hospital room, sitting on the bed, swapping stories, Brian’s arm around Justin and Justin’s head resting on Brian’s shoulder.

“You know what my...favorite memory is...ever?” Justin said.

“What’s that?”

“When you surprised me...at my prom. I was dancing with...Daphne...she tapped me on the shoulder...and pointed behind me. When I turned around...there you were. You looked amazing...in your tuxedo. You said you were...only there to recapture your lost youth...but I knew you were there...because you loved me...even if you’d never admit it. We danced...we were the only ones...on the floor. Everyone was...staring. It was...amazing. I remember...looking in your eyes...seeing you...smile. Then you...spun me around...and you...kissed me. And I really...knew. You loved me. That was the...best night of my life. Even knowing...how it ended. It was still...the best.”

Justin turned toward Brian with the intention of asking what Brian’s favorite memory was, but Brian was staring straight ahead, hardly breathing at all.

“Brian...are you okay?” Justin was suddenly sorry he’d brought up the prom. He’d thought he was sharing a happy memory that might make Brian smile, the same way it had made him smile. He hadn’t thought about the fact that it might not have the same connotation for Brian, given that he knew it had ended in him having to watch Chris Hobbs hit Justin in the head with a bat, and Brian holding Justin’s limp body as he waited for the ambulance.

Brian turned toward Justin, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You never remembered that,” he whispered. “Not until just now.”

“Oh.” Justin really didn’t know what to say. He felt like he’d always remembered it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...to upset you.”

“You didn’t, Sunshine.” Brian smiled, but it looked a little bit...unsure, Justin thought. “I’m glad you remembered it. The good parts, anyway.”

Justin wrapped his arms around Brian and hugged him. They sat like that for a long time -- holding each other. Supporting each other. Partners. Husbands.

And Justin could swear he felt dampness on his shoulder, where Brian’s cheek was resting.

The next day, preparations were being made to discharge Justin from the hospital and send him to inpatient rehab for at least a few weeks, since he still required several hours a day of therapy for his hand and his speech, as well as his memory and a couple of other minor cognition problems that had shown themselves as time had gone on. Justin thought this would mean going home, to New York -- finally. But his hopes were crushed when he found out that Brian and his doctors had been working on transferring him to a rehab facility in Pittsburgh -- the same one, it turned out, where Brian had spent a month after his accident.

“This is a good thing, Sunshine,” Brian said as he finished packing up the few articles of clothing Justin had with him at the hospital. “It means you’re getting better.”

“But I don’t want to go… Not there.” Justin was trying to fight back the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes, but he couldn’t. “I want to go...home. New York. With you.”

He saw Brian’s gaze fall, and the look in his eyes change completely, from hopeful to heartbroken. Justin hated that he’d made Brian feel that way.

“I know, Sunshine,” Brian said quietly. Justin could hear Brian’s voice break as he took Justin’s hands in his. “I know. So do I. But if we stay here for just a little while longer, then we’ll have a little more help. You’ll have your mom...and Debbie. More people means more support. Trust me, you want that. Even if you don’t think you do...you do.” He paused for a moment, then -- so softly that Justin wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear it -- added, “I need that too.”

Justin knew that Brian was right, and he didn’t want Brian to have to help him through this alone, but he couldn’t push away the thought that he really just wanted Brian, and to be home, in New York, in their bed. Really, he wanted for everything to be back to normal.

But for right now, normal was just out of reach.


End file.
